Fandom Island and Town

A general call had gone out - emails, and some texts, not that Ron's assistants had dared to tell him that - to gather up in Town Hall because there was a crisis and it needed to be addressed. And they needed everyone on the island to, well, address it.

Once some people had gathered up, Ron walked up to the stage with visible distaste. He wasn't fond of this part, okay?

Beside him, the official liaison from the Sheriff's Department looked just about as thrilled to be there. Tamsin had her arms crossed and she was glaring daggers at the back wall. Why did she have to be on duty for this?

"Hello," Ron said into the microphone. "We are being haunted."

A brief pause.

"We should fix that."

Another pause.

"Thank you."

Tamsin rolled her eyes and nudged him away from the microphone. "Yeah, we have a ghost problem," she said, "Just in case you didn't figure that out. Which I think you all did, going by the phone calls I've been getting. Anyway, I know some of you eggheads have been hitting the books and from what I'm hearing, you're actually finding stuff. So share stuff. And then some of you are going to go beat up stuff while we fix up some other stuff around here."

Ron cleared his throat.

Then he turned around and walked back into his office.

Tamsin rolled her eyes a second time.

"People who want to help by going out and beat up stuff, go stand over there," she said. "Anyone who wants to share extra information we don't have, get your ass up here. I'm hearing weird rumors flying around about rowan branches and it's psyching me out. Thanks."

[[ wait for the ocd... ]]

The shop was clean.

This made Ron somewhat uneasy.

To solve that problem, he'd bought three of the biggest egg and bacon bagels he had managed to find. There were now bits of bacon in his mustache. He was now at ease.

He needed more bacon, but he'd solve that later.

[[ open! ]]

"Sir?"

Ron's assistant stood at the door, a stack of papers in hand. She looked faintly exasperated, but resigned. This was a piece of theater they had gone through several times already, and she was sick of it. She wouldn't play ball this time.

"I've got the radio transcriptions for the last week," she said, "And I will not be giving them to you."

"Okay," Ron said.

"They will be on my desk," she continued.

"Fine," Ron replied.

"If you need them."

"I won't."

She turned around, papers in hand, and left. Better to keep them on her desk than deal with the Mayor shredding them and/or attempting to throw all the office computers in the dumpster again.

[[ open ]]

"Assistant," Ron said, "Did I not tell you to ward all visitors away from my office?"

His assistant fiddled a bit. "I thought you might enjoy this one," she said.

The two men in yellow suits who stood before him gave a cheesy wave and even cheesier smiles that looked like they had been literally hewn from plastic. "We have a business proposition," one of them enthused.

"I see," Ron said. "Proceed."

"We want to make an investment in two of your local businesses. Moobyland and Taste of Thai," said the slightly less shifty one. "We would also like to talk about further development of your..." He glanced down at his wrist. "...Unexplored? Unexplored Wooded Area. But that can wait."

"I don't understand why you are coming to me," Ron said, after a long pause. "Government has no place interfering in the free market."

"Your predecessor thought differently," the less-shifty one said. "There was paperwork."

Ron shivered.

"The Hyperion Corporation would appreciate your cooperation in this matter."

"Please?!" his shiftier friend added, giving Ron enormous puppy dog eyes.

"Of course," Ron said. "Why, I'm appalled there's this-- paperwork--" Shiver. "To begin with."

Somewhere, a small chicken shivered, tucked its face into its feathers, and rushed across the land bridge.

[[ open! ]]

( Cut for AMERICA. )

There was an entire barbecue set up in the middle of... well, nowhere. The smell of bacon and other assorted pieces of meat hit the air and blew down across town. What might have almost blown across town as well - considering the volume - was the humming of one Mayor Ron Swanson, who had a smile on his face so big it wouldn't even fade if you punched him in the head repeatedly.

Ron might even be caught doing a little butt wiggle.

Today was an excellent day.

[[ the opinions of ron swanson are very much not my opinions. the post is open for anyone who wants to wtf at him or wants meat. ]]

"Please write back to mister Tiny and inform him that this office does not regulate lawn ornaments," Ron said. He twisted around in his chair and neatly dumped the request form into the shredder.

"What should I write?" his assistant asked. "I can get a keyboard, you can dictate--"

Ron sighed loudly. "Do I have to do everything around here?" he said, fishing a scrap of paper out of the disposal. He took his pen and wrote down NO, then handed it to his assistant. "Please mail this important document to mister Tiny. Make sure it gets my stamp."

She nodded, turned around, and fled.

[[ open! ]]

"It is nine PM," Ron said, "On a Sunday."

His assistant blinked. "Yes," she said, "It is."

"Why am I here?" he asked pointedly.

She held up a clipboard. "The previous mayor always oversaw our clean-up efforts," she said smoothly. "Our crew from the Department of Invasion Clean-Up will be here any moment now for your instructions--"

Ron frowned at her. "They are the Invasion Clean-Up Department," he said. "Let them clean up after the invasion." Beat. "Wait, do we fund this?"

"They're a part of Fandom municipal government, sir," she said. "Of course we do."

"Hm," Ron said.

"Sir?" she asked. "Is anything the matter?"

"You would think that there was some kind of company on this island that could take care of this," he said. "There must be a good deal of money in post-invasion clean-up. However, since we are currently holding the monopoly on such activities, we are directly responsible for undermining the free market."

The assistant sighed. "Clean-up crew arrives in thirty minutes," she said. "I'll order you some burgers."

"Hm," Ron said, sinking into his chair and glaring at her. He missed being deaf already.

[[ open! ]]

It had been made clear to Ron that there was a strange problem going about the island. This problem involved the sudden disappearance of many of the town's residents. Personally, he felt it was rather a matter of personal responsibility, but as the mayor he should make some effort to find them again.

And then advise them all to take some self-defense lessons. Because really now.

Anyway, he'd been scouting the woods for a while now. Rifle in hand, quiet, listening. Watching. So far? No hint of anything. Maybe they were all involved in a cult, like Communism.

...

There was a clearing. There was a very large clearing. Ron could not remember seeing this clearing on any maps. But it was there. And it was full of people-- in various stages of dress (and that dress varied from the weird to the bizarre)-- sprawled across the grass.

"Definitely a cult."

He cleared his throat and backed away. They could deal with... their own business.

[ this is your post-BDE wake-up post! injuries sustained during the BDE can be kept or discarded at your leisure. ]

The corpse of two mobile phones occupied the bottom of Ron's waste bin, as did a computer keyboard. Unfortunately, Ron had to be in this office at least several days each week, and so the death of said electronic appliances had been tragic but necessary.

His office was now mercifully quiet. At last.

He pulled out a plastic container and opened it. He unwrapped the bacon inside with great care. He ate it. Then he sat back and did nothing for approximately five minutes. It was heaven.

[[ open! ]]

Well, it had cost him a day and a night's work - most of which had actually been devoted to finding and destroying every bug in the building - Ron could step down off his ladder and see it was Good. The old sign declaring it 'Wellspring Arms and Meditation Center' had been taken down, supplanted with a homemade wood-and-metal sigh proudly reading FREEDOM ARMS, and nothing else.

On the ground, beside the entrance, there now stood a towering wooden sculpture of an eagle, wings spread. Anyone entering the store would now have to deal with the eagle wing that hung right above the opening.

Ron had also considered adding some American flags to the entrance, but that could be considered overkill.

Satisfied with his work, he went back inside, sat down behind the desk, and ate his bacon.

[[ open! ]]

The State - that freeloading parasite that strove to devour the livelihoods of all free Americans - had insisted that Ron take up several of his many accrued vacation days. There were advantages and disadvantages, but far be it from Ron to object to anything that might gum up the workings of Pawnee government for a few weeks. He had taken his survival pack and his gun and trekked out into the woods to spend his paid leave communing with nature's bounty.

But before he had even shot and grilled his first animal, something happened. Something that had never happened before. Something Ron was not aware was even possible: he had gotten lost. Lost. Had government made him soft? No: it might try, but it could not beat him. Something else had to be going on here.

The forest began to thin as he went along. Somewhere along the line, he bumped into a very large, gleaming gentleman who nodded at him and gave him what he presumed to be a map. Ron did not believe in shortcuts, so he merely placed the piece of paper in his backpack, nodded back at the large half-metal man, and proceeded onwards. Eventually, he ran out of forest, and instead found a road, at the end of which was a land bridge, which led to a city.

Ron was hungry. He wondered if they served burgers here.

He looked up at the large spiral of the-- what was it, a cathedral? That was downright European, yuck-- and frowned.

"I wonder if they serve burgers here."

[[ open! ]]